


And Maybe There's No Harm in You

by rebelriotgrrrl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelriotgrrrl/pseuds/rebelriotgrrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it’s Harry’s twentieth birthday and Louis thinks everything is a big joke</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Maybe There's No Harm in You

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's day to MickMick, I love you, have some porn.
> 
> Also much love and good vibes to Jayson for being a guinea pig of sorts.
> 
> I've never written 1D fic bc I'm kind of anti writing RPF and also I'm not British or nearly as talented as a lot of the people who write this but it's a present and I made it and homemade presents don't have to be good it's in the definition.
> 
> *The title comes from the song "No Harm" by The Boxer Rebellion and the whole thing fits nicely and is good so you should probably have a listen.

Harry didn’t want any sort of celebration for his twentieth birthday, he really didn’t. He was in a downright foul mood as of late and pouting alone in his flat with a scalding cup of tea and an obese cat on his lap bingeing on shit American telly seemed about as pleasant as things were going to get.

Of course it wasn’t just any shit American telly that he was bingeing on. It was, to be painfully specific, “Keeping Up With the Kardashians,” and the specifics were painful because Kendall Jenner was on this show, blinking her full eyelashes at him through forty-six inches of LED plasma. He knew he was being masochistic, he knew it was unhealthy, but well when had Harry ever really been concerned with doing things that were healthy for him?

If he was going to be truthful, the reason he was obsessing over the breakup so hard [and what a humiliatingly pathetic break up it had been too: a short Skype call, Kendall looking every inch a model with her dark hair swept up into a trendy ballerina-style bun, no makeup on her flawless complexion except for mascara, giving him those dreadful fake tears as he explained that long distance and diverging career paths just really didn’t seem that practical which had her bursting into affected hysterics and did she really think he was _that_ much of an idiot?] was because it was easier than obsessing over other things. Other things that weren’t exactly appropriate for him to be obsessing over.

Despite it all, Harry was mostly pissed off because it was break for the boys, and as such, everyone had been off doing separate things. Their latest album had just been released with massive success and publicity had been excessive, appearances constant, interviews, pap photos, and meet and greets- frantic. Break came for all of them like that first cool dive into a still lake on a sweltering day and it ironically felt like here, shadowed and underwater, they could all finally breathe again.

But with the catching of breath came the emotion of it all, staved off before by the fence that was the constant questions and chatter and noise of their lives; now with the quiet, it all rushed in to catch up with them. And what caught up with Harry was that he was single, again, but more importantly, that his best mate didn’t seem perturbed by the fact whatsoever.

No, the sudden and unexpected end to Harry and Kendall’s brief but fairly pleasant little tryst had not upset anything in Louis’ perfect world in the slightest. And while Harry could certainly forgive the others’ inattention: Liam preoccupied with projections and numbers and upcoming tour dates because Harry swore he was an accountant or manager or some other equally awful profession in a past life, Zayn preoccupied with Perry and Niall preoccupied with- being Niall- what Harry could certainly not forgive was Louis’s neglect.

       

 

xx

 

Louis came armed with Nandos and DVDs and slapped Harry heartily on the ass when he undid the deadbolt, slumping dejectedly against the door frame, joggers slung low on his lips and t-shirt forgotten somewhere in the pile of dirty laundry that was slowly taking up permanent residence in his bedroom. Harry wanted to be miserable to see him, wanted to close the door in his smug little feline face, but he was too stupidly happy that he had bothered to come at all. Harry despised it when someone he was intent on hating made it impossible to hate them.

“Come on Harry. Why that grumpy face? You’re turning twenty tomorrow! That’s just one year now till you can legally get drink in the US!” Louis affectionately pinched Harry’s cheek, coaxing out a dimple for a split second before Harry remembered himself and scowled determinedly.

“Huzzah,” he monotoned, shutting the door where Louis had carelessly- always so fucking careless- left it completely ajar, and taking a desperate gulp of the third-empty bottle of rosé he was gripping unsteadily with his left hand.

“Well I see we’ve begun the celebrating early.” Louis eyed the swollen glass shape of the large bottle with something like disapproval in his slanted eyes. He didn’t even bother to poke fun at the fact that Harry was drinking wine from a bottle that could satisfy a party of 6, by himself, and a rosé nonetheless, like a 40-year-old, menopausal divorcée.

Louis plopped down on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table, not bothering to take off his Toms like a proper houseguest.

“Alright, where’s the chocolates then?” he demanded.

“What?” Harry blinked slowly, understanding evading him.

“You’ve got wine and reality telly; it seems absolutely irrefutable that you must be PMSing. Either that or it’s menopause but it’s only you’re twentieth birthday so-“

“Oh sod off!” Harry said with less bite than he intended. He had been foolish to think Louis Tomlinson would pass up any opportunity to mock him with full force.

“Look,” Louis started. “I know you’re upset about Kendra-”

“Kendall.”

“ _Kendall_. God that’s a _stupid_ name Harry- but, I just- is she really worth it mate? I mean, she’s just some trashy spoilt reality TV girl. There’s dozens like her. Hundreds maybe. She’s a clone, mate. A fucking clone. You can do a lot better than that.”

“Why do you always have to be like that? So fucking- pretentious and full of yourself and better than everyone else? Why can’t you ever think of others? Why do you always have to be a selfish arse?”

It came out of nowhere- the outburst- and both Harry and Louis were appropriately shocked.

Louis was blinking rapidly, his lips pursed together so tightly they had almost disappeared altogether.

“Is that what you really think of me Haz?”

Harry’s instinct was to fold, to bat his pretty eyelashes and beg Louis not to be angry with him because _fuck_ , the world just felt wrong when Louis was mad at him. He opened his mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah it really is.”

“Well then I better be off then.” Louis stood up, swiping at his cheek with the back of his hand in a suspicious manner, but perhaps it was wishful thinking on Harry’s part.

“Don’t want to intrude on your pity party with my selfish behaviours any further.”

“Yeah look, I just don’t need to be insulted in my own home about my ex-girlfriend by a guy who pretends to be my mate but who I know could give two shits about me.”

“Right.” Louis looked down at the scuffed toes of his Toms and he was so devastating in that moment, so perfect and heartbroken that Harry thought he should’ve been carven, made out of marble and lime and placed in a museum somewhere behind a velvet rope, for people to leer at and admire but never to touch.

“For what it’s worth Harry,” Louis said suddenly, looking up, and now Harry could clearly see the track mark on his cheek where tears had begun to roll. “I came to make sure you were alright. Perhaps I took it a bit far. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said nasty things about Kandy. But God, I came because I _care_ Hazza. I can’t believe you don’t- that you think so- so little of me. Of our friendship.”

His lip was quivering and that was just too fucking much and Harry needed him out, needed him _gone_ , removed from the premises immediately or sooner.

“Eleanor’s probably looking for you.”

“Who gives a _shit_ about Eleanor?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You, I’d imagine, seeing as how she’s your girlfriend and all.”

And that was where he went wrong, it must have slipped out in his tone or something, the way he said the word “girlfriend” with just a little too much rancour to be normal.

“That’s right,” Louis said slowly, looking hard into Harry’s eyes, his face appearing for once much older than he actually was, the stubble on his chin seeming to have grown darker just in the half hour since he’d arrived. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Harry flailed. “Right. Which is why you ought to be with her.” He was gesturing wildly with oversized hands, the sick fear he felt unfurling in his stomach visible on the lines of his face.

“But you’d prefer I be here with you.”

Not a question. A fact. The bastard. Confident, always. Cocky little arsehole. What Harry wouldn’t _do_ to that arsehole.

“I’d prefer to be alone,” Harry said weakly. Louis was getting closer to him, sauntering forward till their faces were just centimetres apart.

“Now that’s just not true.” Louis’ face was awfully close now and it just wasn’t funny anymore, not that it ever had been, but Louis was always up to games and Harry was absolutely done with this one.

“You need to leave mate.” He meant it to be commanding, ironclad, but Louis didn’t flinch.

“You don’t want me to.”

“I do.”

“You like me here.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You adore me.”

“I’m ill just looking at you.”

Louis’ lips were a hair away from Harry’s and Jesus, Harry could smell the wintergreen on his breath and see the little marks from where he bit down and chewed when he was thinking and what the fuck kind of parallel universe was this where Louis’ lips were _that goddamn close_ to Harry’s?

The silence settled, Harry’s breath hitched and Louis-

Louis burst out cackling, nearly falling to the ground as he leant on the sofa arm for support.

“Jesus you’re so easy to mess with. You should’ve seen your bloody _face_ , Haz! So serious.” Louis pulled his own best attempt at a solemn expression, before breaking out in laughter again.

“But truthfully, I really wish you’d relax a bit, yeah?” He clapped Harry on the shoulder and the imprint burned his flesh.

“Go on and…get a new tattoo or maybe call up one of your old girlfriends. I’ve know you’ve got loads. Don’t hang about by yourself Harry. It’s fine if you don’t want to see me, I get that, but me and El will come over and watch telly or whatever you want anytime; just say the word.”

And Louis was sweeping out, a hair running through already perfectly-mussed hair, the sultry sway of his hips never meant for Harry’s eyes, but magnetic to them nonetheless.

Harry punched the sofa arm and bit out a terrible yell into one of the cushions as soon as Louis’ footsteps had trailed off down the hall.

Because it was all just some big fucking joke to Louis and that was why Harry was so desperately in love with him, and also why he hated him more than any other bloody wanker in the universe.

 

xx

 

“Yeah Harry was being a little bitch about it all yesterday but I’ve got no doubt it’s just for attention. You know how he gets when he feels neglected. And after the Krystal thing, he’s bound to be suffering from a bit of a bruised ego. You know how our Harold doesn’t respond well to that.”

Just because Louis was at the bar and Harry at the table, and the pub was brimming-full and loud and Harry had three shots of tequila sloshing in his belly did not mean he had gone deaf. Every word the bastard spouted off to Liam about his “childish antics” reached Harry’s ears with an agonizing clarity.

“Drink up dear Harold! Twenty shots for twenty years!” Zayn appeared at his ear with a loaded tray he must have charmed out of the hands of some waitress, Niall flanking him.

“And twenty spankings for the birthday boy!” He shouted, reaching behind Harry to swat awkwardly at the swell of his bum where it perched on the stool.

“Way to get spit all on my neck Niall,” Harry said irritably, scrubbing at his skin with the back of his sleeve.

Niall just grinned in cheerful disregard and reached for one of Harry’s birthday shots.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He tossed back another.

“Those are my shots,” Harry grumbled. Niall only responded by chucking him fondly under the chin.

“You are far…too…young…to be consumptioning…to be consumpting…all that _alcohol_.”

“And you’re already drunk.”

“Never drunk!” Niall proclaimed, holding up the empty shot glass in victory. “An Irishman is never drunk!”

Zayn shook his head fondly. “Shall we have at it then?” He indicated toward the remaining shots.

“No, you go ahead. I’m not really in the mood.”

“It’s your birthday,” Zayn pointed out, as though it wouldn’t have otherwise occurred to Harry.

“Yes and therefore, don’t I get to do as I please?”

“Absolutely not!” Louis had come over, Harry had no idea when, and was now standing behind Harry, stomach flush to Harry’s back, his elbow perched on Harry’s right shoulder. “As the birthday boy the rules state that you must follow all the rules dictated you by those you formerly deemed your friends.” He tossed a cheeky wink at Zayn who returned it with a smirk.

“Get off.” Harry shimmied his shoulders until he had dislodged Louis and stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his stool.

“I need some air,” he announced to nobody in particular and swore silently to slice the throat of the first lad to follow behind him.

 

xx

 

“What was that in there?”

“Jesus Christ Lou, why can’t you take a fucking hint? I want to be alone!” Harry turned to face the brick of the building, back to Louis, arms folded. He was being just as childlike as Louis had made him out to be earlier but he didn’t quite honestly care anymore. If Louis thought that little of him to begin with, why bother trying anymore?

“I thought I was the exception.”

“Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because we’re…us, you know? Harry and Louis, Hazza and Boobear.”

“I’m not your fucking girlfriend Louis. You’re dating Eleanor.”

“Why are you always reminding me of that? As if you two are the same to me. Our relationships are totally different Haz.”

“Exactly,” Harry whispered. He wasn’t sure if Louis heard him or not.

“Is that what this is actually about Harry? Are you jealous because I’ve got Eleanor and you’re single? D’you think it’s going to change things in our relationship? Because- I promise, nothing’s going to change.”

“Maybe I want things to change!”

“What?”

“Maybe- maybe I’m sick and tired of the way things are!” Harry shouted, spinning around to face Louis, suddenly gaining confidence.

“What d’you mean?” Louis was eyeing him warily, like he was some sort of predatory jungle cat, stalking for the kill.

“I don’t want to be best mates with you anymore Louis.”

“What do you want?” Deathly, frighteningly quiet. Louis’ face had paled, his blue eyes stood out like hard gemstones studded in the sharp angles of his face.

“Just forget it.” Harry turned around on the heel of his sparkly boots that Louis had made so much fun of him for purchasing in the first place, deciding then and there to walk away from it all, walk away from it maybe forever.

“No.” Louis’ voice was steel clanging in the sharp silence in the night air. Harry stopped short, didn’t turn around.

“What do you want?”

Harry shook his head, curls bouncing slightly.

Hands gripped him from behind then, smaller than his, but tight on his abdomen, digging into his the space where his joints connected legs to hips. He felt the front of his pants shift in interest and he clamped hard on his lip, inadvertently drawing blood.

“You want this?” And by _this_ , Louis had to mean his cock, which was curved insistently against Harry’s bum, hard and demanding, causing Harry to have to bite his lip and toss his head back slightly to stifle the groan that crept up his throat.

He shook his head again, less fervently than he would’ve liked, but the fact that he managed to do it at all was impressive, really.

Louis wasn’t having it. He tightened his hold, finger pads sure to leave bruises in the delicate dips of Harry’s hip bones, and thrust violently, once, twice, reaching around then just in time to cup Harry’s cock as it responded in kind.

“That’s it,” Louis encouraged and his voice was so smug Harry wanted to vomit but he also never wanted the touching and dear God the _thrusting_ to end so he kept his mouth closed.

Louis shoved his hand into Harry’s trousers, straight into his pants, calloused fingertips against liquid silk flesh. Harry let out a cry then, rough and unexpected, and he could almost feel Louis’ smile over his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Louis repeated, his voice containing far too much of his usual mirth for Harry’s comfort. “Just a bit pent up Hazza? You need a birthday wank? A hand job between mates? Eleanor never has to know.”

And there it was again. This was all a bloody motherfucking joke and Louis was the main event, stand-up comedian, court jester beloved by all. Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

He flipped on his heel again so that he and Louis were face to face and turned them so that the shorter lad was pressed up against the brick wall he had been staring at previously. He prayed the rough edges would carve scars into the perfect canvas of his back. Louis’ hand had flown out of Harry’s pants in the process and Harry took the opportunity to get down on his knees in front of Louis, one broad hand placed fingers spread wide on each of Louis’ muscular thighs.

“Eleanor’s _going_ to know,” he rasped, wondering when his voice got so crackly. He pulled open the button of Louis’ trousers with enough force that the zipper slid down as well.

He got his hands on the swell of his arse, yanking down dark blue boxer briefs in the back so that his hands could fully cup each cheek, squeezing and massaging them beneath deft fingers. Louis’ head had hit the wall, his adam’s apple protruding from his exposed neck, eyes closed. Harry lunged forward and began mouthing at the bulge framed so nicely by Louis’ briefs, nipping just barely at the member, moistening the cotton with his tongue. Louis’ eyes opened and he stared down at Harry breathing heavily.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing things.”

“S’your birthday. Not mine,” Louis reasoned vaguely.

“I know.”

“I don’t- ah- don’t _need_ to get sucked off Harry.”

“I don’t either.”

“Harry!” Louis placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, shoving him back almost roughly.

“I’ve got a girlfriend Harry.

Harry stood up, dusting off his knees and adjusting himself systematically.

“Right. Remember that next time you’ve got your hand on my cock Lou.”

“It was a joke!” Louis protested. “It- it was your birthday and it was a _joke_ , Harry.”

“Always fucking is,” Harry muttered, walking away.

 

xx

 

It was four AM and Harry was twenty now, his birthday come and gone and more disappointing than he had even expected it to be, which was pretty fucking disappointing. He wasn’t asleep but he sure as hell was going to pretend he had been when he tore into whoever it was who was pounding on his door at this godforsaken hour.

“Wait-“ The only reason Harry didn’t slam the door entirely was because Louis had managed to wedge a foot and most of his calf into the gap with his catlike reflexes and well, closing the door was just impossible. Harry thought about fighting him, pushing until the smaller guy was thrown into a heap in the hallway but the thought alone exhausted him. So instead, he just turned around and walked toward the kitchen, figuring he could really use the remainder of his rosé for this interaction, assuming he still had some left.

“Harry.”

The voice was behind him sounded absolutely wrecked, as though Louis had been sobbing or- even more hideous- deep-throating dick aggressively.

Harry located the wine, still uncorked. It was bound to taste foul. He didn’t care.

“Harry.”

There was just enough left to give him a good buzz- not much more than that, but then, perhaps after Louis left he could locate some whiskey in one of the cupboards over the refrigerator. He knew there had been some stashed back there at one point, though truth be told, he preferred girly drinks as evidenced by the rosé.

“ _Harry_.” And it was the half sob that caught him, made his grip on the bottle slip just slightly, made him turn around and meet Louis’ shattered blue eyes in spite of himself and all his intentions.

“Harry don’t be mad at me.”

Louis was _wrecked_ and Harry wanted him in his arms but more than that he wanted to slap him across the face. Maybe with a frying pan.

“No one’s mad, Haz,” he said tiredly, because Louis was drunk and he just did not have the energy.

“Harry,” Louis said again, _pleaded,_ and Harry met his eyes once more.

“What did you come here for?”

Louis crossed the short distance between them in the kitchen, steps wobbly but certain. “To finish what we started.”

“We didn’t start anything Harry. We ended it,” Harry said with what he hoped was a note of finality in his voice.

“I was scared,” Louis said in a small voice.

Harry snapped then.

“Scared? You were _scared_? I can’t take the fucking whiplash Louis!”

“I was scared, I was scared, I’m sorry, I was scared,” Louis repeated frantically, scrabbling at the button on Harry’s jeans, pressing his lips into small, moist kisses all over Harry’s chin and throat.

Harry used all the strength he possessed in his being to push the boy away. “You don’t want this.”

“I want you.”

“You want Eleanor. And I want…girls like Kendall Jenner.”

“Fuck Kendall Jenner.”

“I’d like to,” Harry chuckled.

“Harry!” Louis nipped at the sensitive skin near his Adam’s apple and Harry whined in half pain, half something he didn’t want to name.

“You don’t want to fuck girls like…Kara Jenner…You…you want to fuck me.”

Harry was about to argue when Louis caught him full on the mouth and he had him then, had always had him really, but it had never been so clear to Harry just how devastatingly _Louis’_ he was, and how strange it was to belong entirely to someone that wasn’t yourself and not even be bothered by that, but to just lie down and _surrender_. Gratefully.

He found himself kissing back and it wasn’t even an effort, not like it had often been with Kendall or most of the other girls he’d snogged. His mouth moved fluidly with Louis’, tongues tangling and lips slip-sliding and heat growing in his stomach, waking up from a long, long nap and unfurling slowly and then stretching, long and languid until it spread all through Harry’s entire body.

He awoke.

Harry’s hands found themselves on Louis’ waist and suddenly the shorter boy was against the wall for the second time that night but this time they were in the shelter of Harry’s flat and the wall was smooth but Harry was rough and Louis’ legs were wrapped around Harry’s waist like he never meant to let go, which was, of course, just fine.

Mouths opened wider and Louis was biting on Harry’s lower lip while Harry groaned into the sensation, twisting his fingers hard into Louis’ hair until he whined. Harry sucked the tip of Louis’ tongue into his mouth and then darted down to his neck, sucking a trail to his collarbone and then moving back up over his handiwork, making certain to leave marks. Not just Eleanor would know; everybody would.

“Harry, Harry,” Louis panted and it was a heady thing to have Louis Tomlinson panting your name like you were some sort of Adonis making real live love to him.

Harry gave his hands permission to explore the planes of Louis’ torso, tracing nonsensical patterns into soft lines of his abdomen, taking an intentional moment to catch one of Louis’ nipples between his fingers. Louis gasped, arched, keening for more. A sweat had broken out on his brow and Harry licked at it, because he could. He rolled his nipple again, giving it a hard pinch, relishing Louis' reaction, the demanding push of his cock against Harry’s waist.

He was humping him now unabashedly and Harry couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t affected, that he hadn’t imagined this scenario a million different times before, in various locations, but always with Louis, panting, debauched, hair growing stringy against his forehead as he threw his head back and took his pleasure on Harry. Harry thrust up then, deliberately, hard, making sure that Louis could feel him pulsing in his trousers. If the way he moaned and arched his neck back even more was any indication, Louis wasn’t opposed.

Harry took him and then and laid him out on the kitchen floor, stretching out his long-limbed body above him, hands framing either side of Louis’ head. Their eyes locked then, in the dim light of the kitchen, and Harry could note lust in Louis’ blue ones, lust and something else, but it didn’t like revulsion, maybe a little bit of fear but mostly want and Harry couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else right now.

Louis must have noticed his hesitation because reached up to grab Harry by the curls and pull his head down, taking a moment to pause when their noses touched.

“Take it Hazza,” he whispered. “It’s your birthday.”

And there were so many things wrong with that, so many things wrong with this idea Louis seemed to have that he was giving Harry some sort of birthday present when Harry was in bloody fucking love with him but it was late and he was so tired, physically, and Louis-tired, worn and spent, and he just didn’t have the strength to be rejecting birthday presents.

Harry bent forward and kissed Louis, once, chastely, before moving to his jeans and opening the button for the second time that night. He could feel Louis’ briefs, already damp on the outside and oh, and suddenly Harry felt the breath expel from his lungs in one big gush because _he did that_ to Louis.

He couldn’t help but run his fingertips teasingly up and down the bulge, stroking, playing, wanting to take his time with Louis while he had him, but Louis wasn’t having.

“Harry. Please.” He pushed his hips, once, gently, so that Harry’s fingers were cupping the thick outline of his dick and Harry suddenly wondered what the fuck he was waiting for. He yanked Louis’ pants down, revelling in the sight of him, his cock bared and unashamed, resting hard against his stomach, shining and flushed with blood and practically visibly pulsing.

“Jesus Lou,” he breathed because Louis was _big_ and Louis blushed but didn’t stop himself from thrusting up into Harry’s hands once more.

“Please,” he rasped.

“What? Talk to me, tell me. What?”

“You fucking bastard,” Louis wheezed. “Just do _something._ ”

Harry chuckled softly, though that he the wherewithal to laugh at all in a moment like this was mind-boggling. Louis looked about to have a fit until Harry had his mouth on him, sucking him in without hesitation, his lips stretching easily and beautifully around the length. He began to bob his head and Louis closed his eyes and arched his back, moaning so loudly the neighbors would surely think someone was injured inside Harry’s flat.

“How...that feels so _good_ Haz, how does that feel so _good_?”

“Surely Eleanor’s given you a blowjob before?” Harry pulled off for a moment to deliver the cheeky line, altogether ignoring Louis’ real, unspoken question, which was how was Harry so good at it.

“Never been like...this...before,” Louis said between pants and he thrust his hips, lightly, just enough to slide a couple centimetres farther into Harry’s mouth but not enough to hurt him.

“Go ‘head Lou. You can fuck my mouth.”

Louis’ eyes turned dark at that and it took him a moment before he shook his head.

“No. No, don’t want to fuck your mouth, want you to fuck me.”

“Y-your mouth?” Harry tripped over his words.

“No Harry.” There was no laughter in Louis’ eyes for once in his goddamn life and Harry thought he might throw up and explode with joy at the same time.

“You- you want...”

“Yes,” Louis responded impatiently. He reached up and grabbed Harry’s head, pulling his lips to his and kissing him languorously, relishing the softness and the taste of himself and the raw feeling of the inside of Harry’s cheeks.

“I’ve got to get…” Harry didn’t finish his sentence, just scrambled up off of Louis and ran to the door of his bedroom. Condoms, lubricant, his fingers fumbled over _other_ things, things that would probably frighten Louis if he saw them and he decided it was better off to leave them behind in the drawer. Maybe the next time they could-

But no he wasn’t going to think that way.

 

 

xx

It was a slow burning fuck on the kitchen floor, like an oversized candle on a hot night in the summertime, sultry and paced and a slick slide-sweat-stretch-slap-slide that ached but which Harry just couldn’t get enough of. Louis had been _so tight_ when his fingers first slid in and was still so tight as he pushed into him again and again and again. But Louis was taking it, meeting each thrust with one of his own, palming himself with little technique and no finesse, just attempting to grant himself any sort of sloppy relief. It was hot, blazing where their torsos touched, and Harry was biting his lip to keep from crying out because fucking had never felt quite so painfully wonderful. He alternated between looking at Louis’ face, scrunched up almost adorably and turned to the side, mouth hanging open to heave breaths in and out, and looking at Louis’ body, the way his muscles responded to each movement, flexing and jumping, the way his cock throbbed, inviting Harry to try and have another taste.

Harry began to slow his rhythm and Louis’ fingernails were scratching down his back.

“Don’t stop.”

And so Harry sped up.

His thrusts deeper, his hands tighter on Louis’ hips and now Louis was yelling, unable to keep it in anymore and Harry couldn’t help but grin at that. He always knew Louis had to be a screamer in bed, if one could only bring it out of him. And he had managed to do that.

Harry knocked Louis’ hand off of his cock and encircled it with his own fingers, matching the strokes to the movement of his hips and then he felt Louis’ balls draw up against his dick and the muscles in his abdomen tensed and Harry went faster, less controlled and more jerky, the slide of his hand slipping just a bit and then Louis was _coming_ and crying out and it was all over Harry’s chest and even a bit on the bottom of his chin and before Louis could stop, Harry tossed back his head, sweaty curls framed with a halo by the dim light of the stove lamp and let everything he had go inside of Louis’ quaking body.       

xx

 

“Why did you break up with Kendall?”

It was the first time Louis had used Kendall’s name properly and the first time he had indicated he knew it was Harry that had broken up with Kendall and not the other way round.

“She wasn’t…right.” Harry didn’t even try to deny the truth, that it had, in fact, been him who had tossed his American model girlfriend right before his twentieth birthday.

“None of them ever are,” Louis said, tracing a finger lightly through the cum painted across Harry’s chest, sucking his finger casually into his mouth like this was something he did every day, ate his own cum off his best mate’s pectoral muscles.

“Yeah well,” Harry shrugged nonchalantly, sitting up a bit so he could prop his neck uncomfortably against the refrigerator, but away from Louis. They were still lying on the kitchen floor and it was beginning to get uncomfortable but Harry was scared that if they moved, it would break the spell that had somehow kept Louis here, even after Harry had fucked him, even after he had gotten his rocks off, even after he had given Harry his supposed “birthday present” and done his tried and true duty as best mate to the birthday boy.

“Are you ever going to find someone right?”

“Does anyone?”

“Don’t answer my question with another question,” Louis chided.

“Christ Louis, I appreciate the birthday shag but I thought the whole point of fucking other guys was that you didn’t have to do any of that fluffy pillow talk afterwards and shit.”

Louis looked offended.

“I’m your best mate.”

“I’ve had my dick in your arse, Lou.”

“And you quite liked it, if I recall.”

“One warm, tight hole’s as good as any.”

Louis shot up, his back ramrod straight so that he was heads taller than Harry.

“You’re a fucking twat.”

“Lou-” Harry reached out to calm Louis with a pat on the shoulder but wondered if they had gone too far for those sorts of casual, reassuring touches anymore.

“Jesus Harry. I can’t figure you the fuck out, I swear to God.”

“You think I’m confusing?” Harry couldn’t believe it. As though _he_ was the straight boy who had a long term girlfriend and had just come and let his best friend fuck him in the arse for his birthday. No, he had been as good as an innocent bystander in all this!

“You’re confusing as hell!”

Harry shook his head. “What’s confusing is,” he swallowed. “You’re supposed to be my best mate. And best mates don’t fuck, Louis.”

“Are you blaming me then?” Louis looked a little angry, but mostly just- upset, and that wasn’t something Harry was okay with.

“No I just. I don’t understand.” And to Harry’s horror, tears were starting to form in his eyes, and he scrubbed at them with the back of his fists, but it just gave him away to Louis all the more.

“Are you crying?” Louis asked in a much softer tone.

“Goddamnit Lou!” Harry said, pulling his fists away, searching for somewhere else to fix his gaze desperately. “You just- you _play_ with people, like we aren’t real, like we don’t matter. We’re not your pets, Louis. We’re not your fucking dolls.”

“I never-”

“And if you know I’m in love with you, the decent thing to do would be to keep distance from me, yeah? Try and help me get over it. Don’t go and...lead me on.” Harry was crying full force again and _God_ it was humiliating and he needed his fists to cover his eyes because by gum he’d keep some semblance of dignity in this whole fucked up situation.

But he couldn’t stop the word vomit that poured from his mouth. “I just don’t know what you’re game is here. Was it fun for you, knowing how bad I wanted it? You thought it’d be a lark? What shall I get Harry for his birthday this year? A nice solid fuck in the arse to satisfy his little gay boy fantasies once and for all? And we can look back and laugh about it for years to come? You- you’re sick Louis! You’re just sick is what you are.” His tears has blended somewhat into anger but they returned now, bringing a runny nose along with them, making Harry a soggy, wretched mess. He wanted to Louis to leave and never to see him again. Never to leave his bed again for that matter.

“You’re...gay, aren’t you.” Louis was having a small revelation.

Harry peered at him through his fingertips, a little appalled that _that_ of all things was what Louis would choose to fixate on.

He shrugged, finally. “Maybe. Dunno. I just know that I like...I like…”

“You like me,” Louis supplied, sounding matter of fact but looking shell-shocked. “You _love_ me.”

“I- yeah.” Harry said, helplessly hiding his face in his hands again. “Isn’t that why you did all this?”

“To be honest Harry, I had no idea what the fuck I was doing,” Louis said in disbelief, running his hands through his kitchen-sex hair. “I just- I guess at first maybe it was a little bit of a game but I- I wanted you. And I had to have you.”

“It was a birthday present.”

“The events coincided, and I was trying to reason with myself. But I _wanted_ it.”

“But you-”

“I broke up with Eleanor before I came here. Right after the pub actually. I went and I called her and I told her we were through. Didn’t even do it in person. My mum would have my hide.” Louis laughed without humour.

“Why?” Harry asked a bit horrified.

“I knew I had to. But I couldn’t go find you because you just rejected me. So I went and got pissed. And then I ended up here.”

Harry sighed, his tears having come to a stop. He scrubbed a hand over his face, noting the sound of the birds waking up that could be heard just outside his flat window.

“It’s morning time.”

Louis murmured agreement, eyes closed as he rested against the fridge.

“We had sex.”

Louis cracked open an eye then. He smiled, small at first, then big, letting the grin overtake his face in that perfectbeautifulimpish _Louis_ way that always shattered Harry’s heart.

“We had _fabulous_ sex.”

“On my kitchen floor.”

“How kinky of us.”

“You’re not…freaked out?” Harry had to ask, knew Louis couldn’t have transitioned seamlessly from teasing little straight boy to full-blown, well-adjusted homo in the span of one night.

"I love you Haz,” Louis said simply.

“What?” It was a decibel below a yell.

“I said, I love you Haz.”

“I know what you said you twat! And I don’t think it’s very funny.”

“Harry. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t realize _how_. Is it so hard to believe that I could’ve figured it out and just been _okay_ with it? No freak out, no identity crisis, just finding out I love someone, and he loves me back. Shouldn’t that just make me happy?”

Louis’ eyes were perfectly sincere and it was the second time that night that Harry noticed not a trace of laughter on the older boy’s face and it made him want to giggle with sheer joy.

“You really mean it.”

“I fucking poured out my heart to you, of course I really mean it. Come on Haz. Pick me. Choose me. Love me.”

"Did you truly just quote ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ at me? At this crucial moment?”

“Come on Harry.”

“Hmm,” Harry murmured thoughtfully, leaning up to kiss Louis full on the mouth, for research purposes, of course. “I suppose...maybe there’s no harm in you.”

And this time Harry didn’t mind when Louis laughed because life could be rather funny when you thought about it.


End file.
